


When Deities Drink to Devils

by DaDreadedJester



Series: Agents of Chaos (The Joker and Loki) [2]
Category: Dark Knight (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Banter, Crack Crossover, Drunken Shenanigans, Friendship/Love, Humor, M/M, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:19:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaDreadedJester/pseuds/DaDreadedJester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having busted out of Blackgate and lived together for about a year... the clown and the trickster reach a new stage in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Drunken Domestic

It had been approximately a year - an extremely eventful one, at that - since the deity met the devil. 

The two souls seemed to morph into a single "unstoppable force" - as the clown deemed it - and had been near inseparable since their escape from Blackgate Prison; their relationship representing that of a rather dysfunctional Gemini. 

It pleased the Joker, immensely, to know that he'd actually succeeded in verbally seducing a God; needless to say, this matter severely inflated his already-abundant ego. He'd honestly managed to "out-silver-tongue" the alleged silver-tongue! Now that, my friend, is irony. The Joker - of course - was an avid supporter of irony or any brand of humour, for that matter.

Slap-stick, however, was his personal favourite. 

Upon reflection, he concluded there were a significant number of reasons why he chose Loki: they both had an acquired taste of attire, same cynical outlook regarding society's fabricated morals of self-righteousness, both of 'em had Daddy issues and - let's be honest about the God of Lies, here - he was kinda cute. 

Initially, he had enjoyed the complex dynamic of their... relationship? What would you even call it? 

The Joker, quite seriously - and he wasn't often one to be serious - had no idea.

Anyway, now things had... shifted, somewhat. 

In the beginning, the Joker would consider Loki a source of amusement: taking delight in pressing him with painful questions, watching a God - for God's sake - squirm and writhe when the Joker's jibes touched a nerve. The clown took relentless pleasure in, casually, chiselling away at the God of Lies' frozen facade. He merely wanted to provoke him, get in his head; the guy's mind was a maelstrom of intimate demons waiting to be exploited. I mean, when a murderous clown is faced with Pandora's box, what does he wanna do?

Well, open it, obviously. 

However, things had changed; the initial tension between them - the treading on egg-shells, the Joker seemed to thrive upon - had died, somewhat. Loki hadn't proved to be as easy a nut to crack, as he'd originally thought; yes, the Joker's "advances" - whatever their intentions - clearly made the God uncomfortable but he hadn't submitted to the total-crack-up-crazy-break-stuff-phase, yet.

Joker didn't like that: not... one... bit.

On the contrary, Loki had responded in a very unexpected manner: he seemed to become more attentive and... 'fluffy' towards the clown. It was plain weird. It wasn't that the Joker opposed a... physical relationship - as a matter of fact, he practically enforced it - but he was hardly a romantic. 

Unfortunately, Loki was.

Loki seemed to have... domesticated him, completely demolishing all hopes of the partners-in-destructive-crime-ideal. After much contemplation, the Joker believed all the "lovey-dovey-bullshit" started when he'd returned home - after a hard day's pillaging, punching and poisoning - to find Loki had made tea and crumpets; how bloody British. The situation had transpired something like:

JOKER: Jesus, if I'd known I'd married Jeeves, I would've bought a better suit.

LOKI: You are not funny, clown. Despite your delusions toward such matters, you are not funny. 

JOKER: Nice to see you, too, pumpkin pie!

LOKI: I have prepared supper, now - please - sit.

JOKER: Yes, m'am. Where's your apron, by the way?

LOKI: Would it, honestly, kill you to cease your utter dismissiveness and say, 'thank you'? Just this once?

JOKER: Hahahahaha! Sorry, Mother! I'm not even fucking hungry! Did you consider that, Cinderella? Did you? I doubt it. 

LOKI: No... I didn't. I am sorry. In that case, I shall clear up and retire to bed, now. Goodnight, Mister Joker.

JOKER: Master Joker, to you. Hehehe. And aren't ya gonna eat your culinary masterpiece? 

LOKI: I, also, have no appetite, at present. I made them for you, as you have been active, all day.

JOKER: Oh. 

Ugh. The clown shuddered away the rancid memory. Jeez, it was like living with another Harley! (Though, thankfully, Loki was way more intelligent... and attractive.) I mean, he'd even felt... guilt. That puppy-eyed son of a bitch. The clown's companion - now, roommate - was not supposed to tame him - the King of Chaos - and mother him; smother him, more like. It was sickening and very, very frustrating.  
_________________________________

The Joker entered their derelict apartment to find none-other-than Loki Laufeyson prostrated, lazily, across the moth-eaten couch... which was - to the Joker's unconcealed surprise - surrounded by numerous bottles of Jack Daniels'... and all of them were empty. 

Loki moaned groggily into the cushions but - after processing the Joker's return - sprang upward, caught in incandescent excitement; his jade-green eyes, blazing with adoration. He catapulted from the couch, in an attempt to approach the clown... however, he promptly stumbled into the coffee table. Collecting himself, with wounded pride, he then neared the astounded Joker with a gait that wavered with drink. He stopped - inches from the clown's face (which was currently a mask of disbelief) - and gave a sultry smile:

"Darling, you've come back for meeee!" 

He slurred the words like an intoxicated serenade, as he flung his arms dramatically around the Joker's neck. He then flopped his dazed head upon the Joker's boney shoulder, inhaling his murky scent of gasoline and gunpowder. 

'Oh, God', the Clown worried, internally, 'I did not sign up for this.' 

Loki did not notice the man's silence, as he continued:

"I thought you wouldn't..." - he gave a high-pitched hiccup - "...ever, ever, ever come back."

He forced his leaden head from the man's shoulder and regarded his mask of decay with glazed eyes. He brought a slender hand, in front of the clown's face and started to ghost his deft fingers over the ragged scars. 

The Joker suppressed a flinch, and continued to watch the drunk God - he still couldn't believe that Loki, of all people, was shit-faced - with complete fascination... and, perhaps, a tad of fear. He didn't like people touching his scars and he didn't like drinkers, either.

"I think they're pretty." Loki stated matter-of-factly but could not appear serious when so, obviously drunk.

The Joker gave in, slightly and smirked; the scars had been referred to as many things... but never 'pretty'. However, he gave a sarcastic response:

"Really? You find my "potentially self-inflicted mutilations"... 'pretty', pumpkin?"

Loki let slip an impish giggle, entirely akin to that of a flirtatious school-girl. He raised his index finger to the clown's powered face:

"Yes - I - do!"

He punctuated each word with a clumsy 'tap' to the Joker's nose. The Joker was... speechless; a rare event for a man of his kind. He'd never thought Mr. Butthurt of the Bookworms could be so... tactile or such a light-weight, either. It unnerved the clown, most certainly.

However, that was not to be the extent of his worries.

"Did you know..." - the God suddenly spat with exaggerated bitterness; he swayed like a mast in a storm, unable to truly balance himself - "...I hate alcohol? Had to drink it..." - he flung his lanky arms outward, dramatically - "...all the time back h-home." He gave a small wretch, as he finished his lament.

The Joker gave an ironic snort:

"Could've fooled me."

"I was being sincere!" He protested with childish annoyance, irritated at the clown was not taking him seriously, for some reason. He, then, switched his mood - again - to that of solemn mournfulness, eyes swimming with inebriated sadness:

"My brother once said I was...", he interrupted himself, as he swallowed audibly and gave a loud sniff, "...I was 'incapable of sincerity'. I can be honest, can't I? Tell me I can."

He turned to the clown, with child-like questioning carved into his features and - to the Joker's horror - his alabaster countenance wore traces of liquid that wasn't alcohol. 

'Oh, God. No. No, no, no, no, no.'

The most feared super-villain in Gotham City took a sharp step back - clumsily colliding with the door, behind him - from the withered, frail form of Loki Laufeyson. Why?

"Uh... I don't do tears, honey-pie. I just— I don't— Nothing personal but what I mean is—"

The clown all-but-clawed for the door handle, as the trembling of Loki's bottom lip became ever-more-apparent. Loki's gaze was fixated on something only he could appear to visualise, eyes swimming with fresh, hot tears.

Suddenly, his head snapped up when he heard the 'click' of the door. If looks could kill... we could all say, "farewell" to the Clown Prince of Crime. Loki glared, murderously at the clown - who currently depicted the definition of, 'rabbit in the headlights' - but Loki merely sighed and fell into a heavy state of melancholy:

"Just go."

Silence.

Suddenly, there was a regurgitation of rage - words infused with pathetic, tearful breathes - as Loki found his voice (which was still slurred with drink):

"Go, clown! Leave! Leave like they always do: my father left me at infancy, Odin left me to rot in the void, my brother left me to rot in a cell and my mother—"

He froze, stunned by the painful collision his own words brought upon him. He started to shake, his scrawny form consumed with shudders. The Joker swore he could hear the guy's bones rattling.

"My mother..."

The Joker stepped away from the door, finally approaching the wreck of God. He couldn't leave the poor bastard, now... not when he knew what was coming.

And, sure enough, Loki started to cry; ugly, heaving sobs which seemed to tear his throat, mercilessly. He wept like a child, as he descended into hysteria:

"I want my mother..." - he howled like a wolf may at the moon - "...I want my m-m-mother."

The Joker dared to draw nearer to the tear-stained face, the situation seemed to familiar to him to disregard. He missed his mother, too... despite the fact he hadn't the faintest idea who she was, anymore. God, what he'd give to, at least, know her name.

Funny what the heart wants, isn't it?

He pulled Loki into a tight and sufficiently awkward embrace... What? He wasn't good with hugs, OK? Subconsciously maintaining his rigid stance, he attempt to console his companion. 

"Mama. Mama. I want, mama."

The Joker couldn't conceal a giggle; it appeared Loki was immersed within a childhood memory, as he drowned in his own tears. Wow, he was wasted. 

"So that's who you are, then." Murmured the Joker, as a form of confirmation, to himself. "You're just a little kid cryin' for his Mommy, aren't ya?" 

However, Loki had clearly heard him, for he nodded his head against the Joker's garish shirt.

"C'mon, buddy." The clown sighed; he found being nice hideously tedious. He just wanted peace, now; time to think, time to plan. He needed to get Loki to sleep, somehow. He prayed to the God's that this one, in particular would conk out, soon. In a vain attempt to get the God to sleep, the clown led him to the couch.


	2. Cuddles on the Couch

"Note to self," muttered the Clown Prince of Crime, as he pinched the bridge of his nose with deft fingers, closing his hollowed eyes whilst giving a exasperated sigh, "...never let him drink, again."

Loki curled his colt-like limbs around the waist of his partner (in crime), snaking into the clown's side whilst omitting a dragged sigh of blissful contempt. The Joker stiffened his angular jaw, inhaling sharply, as he visibly tensed the entirety of his being. However, the God payed no heed - lost in his affections - and proceeded to nestle his head of silken, ebony tresses into the painted man's protruding ribs, like a love-struck cat. He all but purred against him. 

The sight made the Joker feel quite nauseous. He was merely a kicked puppy to him... or - given the current circumstances - more like a bitch in the heat. 

He closed his eyes - to compose himself, more than anything - and swallowed his poison, for now.

Suddenly, those same, piercing eyes flashed open, holding a flicker of fear. The silence was shattered by those dreaded words, that never failed in clamping his chest in a fist of ice; a frozen heart which then circulated a callous, coldness though every course of his anatomy. A confounded utter of delightful deceit that always ended in disaster:

"I love you."

The words were slightly slurred - due to their inebriated speaker - but were sincere, none-the-less. 

However, the clown rolled his darkened eyes with unadulterated impatience. He gave an exaggerated sigh - heavily infused with boredom - as he pondered upon Loki's sentimentally with bitter contempt:

"Is that supposed to be funny, darling?"

His voice smooth - words fluttering with an air of eerie softness - his tone was almost... charming. Then again, the man truly was the humanisation of charisma... Well, give or take a few psychotic tendencies. It was a remarkable pity that the Joker was, really, a conniving bastard.

Loki, suddenly, retreated from his languid embrace; retracting his lanky limbs, swiftly from the man's slender waist. He gaped at him - with glazed eyes of jade - with an air of betrayal, an expression of confusion and hurt etched into his elven features. Joker regarded it cripplingly pathetic... if not slightly adorable. 

The God, suddenly, retaliated with injured defiance:

"Yes, I do! How could you say that? Master Joker, I do love you."

(God, he did love it when he called him that; just a pity it wasn't quite within the context the Joker desired... but we'll not dwell on that.)

Then the painted man's veil of impassiveness betrayed him; for Loki's words were saturated with such compassion and honesty... he might have actually believed them.

He returned the porcelain prince's gaze and - momentarily - abandoned his sarcastic facade. His eyes entities of their own, as they swam with a tender affection that seemed to be seasoned with pity. He gave a saddened smile - teased with his grotesque mutilations - as he replied with a solemn softness:

"You're drunk. You don't love me, puddin'."

Loki maintained his expression of bewilderment, his retort almost immediate: 

"Why not?"

Joker couldn't stop the playful curl of his lips; the exaggerated pout of the deity's pale, pink lips was comically juvenile. He sighed wearily, nipping Loki's pointed chin between a paint-stained thumb and index finger. He adopted the tone of a withered parent trying to explain a complicated concept to an uncomprehending child. He chuckled and continued - slowly - spelling out each word:

"You're only sayin' that 'cause nobody else is listening. You don't know what love is, anymore, sweetheart."

He felt a small pool of guilt churn within the pit of his gut, as his kicked puppy visibly flinched from the sting of his words. However, then Loki's expression shifted into something more solemn, more mature; his intense stare unyielding as he enquired, cooly:

"Do you?"

Well, he had him there.

The Joker ignored the twist of pain, concealed within the depth of his chest and - instead - smiled at the God, playfully:

"As matter of fact..." - the clown proclaimed with an air of pride - "...I do."

Loki stared at him, quite incredulous. Then his glassy eyes - still reddened with tears - widened in fear, as the clown burst into an eerie fit of giggles. He did that a lot... and Loki would be forever left to wonder just what was quite, so funny. The clown denoted the God's confusion and - in a tone thick with madness - delivered the punchline:

"Love's just a joke."

Silence.

Loki started, violently, as another round of laughter escaped that horrifying mask of decay. The laughter was relentless, manic; it seemed to depict a much deeper, more macabre form of insanity Loki had never seen before.

It killed him to admit it, but this mortal terrified him.

He simply didn't understand the man; a code he just couldn't decipher. Why did he laugh? Why did revel within morphing all of life's occurrences and happenings into nothing more than a joke? What was so fun—

Then it happened; a strange sensation awoke inside the God. 

He started to laugh, too.

He began to accompany the clown, cackling in unison; the derelict apartment became saturated with manic delirium. Tears of hilarity rolled down each pale facade, as they cradled their, now, aching ribs, shoulders practically spasming in laughter.

Then something quite unexpected occurred, regarding both parties; the laughter - all-but-squeals of hysteria - shifted into another form of emotion. The frantic breaths - nearing hyperventilation - became more burdened and pained, their tears of joy became tainted, somewhat. 

Yes, the clown and God - whilst positioned on the moth-eaten sofa in a "couple-like" manner - started to cry. The laughter began to blend into uncontrollable sobs.

They, sort of, clung to each other, clawing at their garish attires. They remained trapped within their tableau of travesty, for quite some time. Suddenly, the devastated God - still hopelessly drunk - gasped his lament:

"W-why... does no one love us, M-m-master Joker?"

The clown froze - tears ceasing, temporarily - as the God shuddered within his rigid embrace. His hugging skills still had not improved within the past hour. He pulled away from the frail deity and gave him a tender smile... Well, it might have been tender had his ragged scars not spoiled its innocence: they proved a constant reminder that he really was just a madman, the same way Loki was just a liar.

"Well, no one loves a homicidal fuck-up with Daddy issues, do they?" The clown chuckled, softly, which invoked a weak smile from Loki.

The God stared into the clown's darkened eyes and grew quite lost within their entity; miniature vortexes of inexplicable demons, no one would ever know. The thought completely intrigued him. 

"But, hey..." - the Joker chimed, suddenly, snapping Loki from his revery - "...at least we've got each other, right?" 

"Yes." Loki replied, contentedly, as he slumped languidly into the couch; all of this 'emotional outlet of repressed issues' was utterly exhausting.

Yeah, at least they had each other. It was hardly love - neither of them had the capacity for that - but at least it was something.

'Yes.' The God pondered with a whimsical smile, as he stared at the rotting ceiling, '...at least it's something.'


End file.
